


Whistles the Wind

by Dragomir, ElDiablito_SF



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, Historical AU, M/M, Vampires, vampiric dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 11:37:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragomir/pseuds/Dragomir, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles agrees to become a hostage to a mysterious Lord Sebastian Monroe in order to save his brother's life.  Little does he know about his host and his appetites.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whistles the Wind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swietlik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swietlik/gifts).



> This is for [swietlik](http://swietlik.tumblr.com/) who wanted vampire!Bass (with angst and sex and other fluffy fluff). We give you these things!

No matter how hard he tried, Miles couldn’t resent his older brother, Benjamin, for having a family. He adored his niece, Charlotte (who was getting quite proficient with the pistol he’d smuggled to her for her fifteenth birthday), and doted on his nephew, Danny, whom he rarely saw (due to a combination of circumstances, tutors, and a never-ending stream of doctors). What he found it easy to resent his brother for, though, was his wife, the fact that he’d avoided serving in Her Majesty’s Armed Forces during the war, and that—most of all—Ben had had the gall to participate in the Snowball Riot in Trafalgar Square.

None of that mattered right now, though. No, this time, he was going to commit fratricide and do so very cheerfully.

Somehow, his elder brother had managed to aggravate a reclusive lord from who-knew-where in the Empire. Miles was sure he wouldn’t have found out about it until Charlotte came to him with blood on her hands after another marriage…failed. (If his niece had been a man, Miles was certain dear old Ben would have sent the boy to the military posthaste and then disavowed knowledge of ever having said child.) Benjamin had developed the tendency, ever since marrying into wealth, to try and use his children as bargaining chips. Daniel couldn’t be bartered away, so that left pretty, sweet, marriageable Charlotte on the proverbial chopping block.

Sebastian Monroe was a different kettle of fish, though, Miles could tell. The blonde man had the bearing of a member of the House of Lords, without the inherent snobbishness. There was something about him that spoke to the military man Miles had been two short years ago, before he’d been forced out to rely on his brother’s charity and hospitality. And, Miles had to realize, having a young woman offered up to him on a platter to smooth ruffled feathers wasn’t going to fix the fact that Ben had—in an extremely foolish jest—accused the lordling of homosexuality. (Which might have been popular among the nouveau riche in Paris, but it was a hanging offense in the Empire. Benjamin was an idiot.)

Sensing blood, Miles stepped between his older brother and the blond man. He smiled tightly. “I’m sure my brother would not act so foolishly, were he sober,” he said in an undertone, crowding the blond to force him away from Ben—mostly to keep Ben from doing anything stupid. Again. “Perhaps we can avoid dragging my bloodthirsty little niece into this mess and…come to a more mutually beneficial arrangement.” He smiled.

Sebastian gave him an odd look, then smiled back. His teeth were pearly white and, for some reason, reminded Miles of a tiger. It was worrisome.

“Are you offering to take your niece’s place on that platter?” Sebastian asked in a low voice that sent shivers down Miles’ spine. The last time he’d had that sensation, a Russian had been about to gut him with a bayonet. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation at all. Miles swallowed and shot a look at Ben over his shoulder. The idiot had gotten another drink and was studying the both of them with a calculating gaze.

Miles sighed. His brother had been so much more likeable before he’d married Rachel—or rather, until he’d married into Rachel’s money. He turned his attention back to Sebastian and gave the shorter man a tight smile.

“We can come to an arrangement. Just…” Miles sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t kill Benjamin. He’s a foolish man, but—”

“Your brother. Of course.” Sebastian gave him another tiger-smile and swept past him to speak with Ben. Miles leaned against the wall, feeling uneasy. He had a feeling things were going to go wrong very, very quickly.

He just hoped it didn’t affect Rachel or her children.

\- o – o -

A black carriage arrived for him the next morning at Benjamin’s home in Regent’s Park. Miles was surprised to see that the lordling—Sebastian, or, as the letter the blond manservant had given him said, Bass—hadn’t bothered to put a coat of arms on the carriage. Rachel’s family had decorated almost everything in their only child’s home with the family crest. (It made Miles want to gouge his eyes out, but he was polite enough not to upset Ben in his own home.)

The carriage smelled like pine and wood smoke, which was a much more pleasant smell than anything in London. It reminded Miles of the Baltic, minus the biting cold. The manservant sat across from him, as far as the confined space and propriety would allow, and chatted pleasantly about the estate. Miles found himself smiling several times as the man, Jeremy, spoke, elaborating on several of the more amusing facets of the Monroe estate. The man stopped smiling when Miles asked if Sebastian—Bass—had taken another carriage.

“He returned home after your brother insulted him last night. You’ll see him in two days, when we arrive.”

Miles missed the conversation after that. He’d been itching to know more about his…host, was probably the politest term he could have used. What else was he supposed to call Bass? Aside from “fop” or “arrogant lordling”, anyways, neither of which he’d voice aloud. Still, he couldn’t complain. He _had_ offered himself in exchange for his brother’s life and to keep Charlotte from being sent to a boarding school or a convent far from England when the proposed engagement fell through again since she inevitably shot the man in question, just as her Uncle Miles had taught her. (He wouldn’t put it past his brother to send the poor girl to America or, worse, France. Although there were some decent, amusing folk who lived along the southern coast, if he had to be honest.)

Jeremy didn’t speak to him again until dusk on the second day, when an imposing-looking black gate had appeared out of the gloom.

“His lordship is…possessive,” Jeremy said, helping Miles out of the carriage. Miles didn’t need help, but he didn’t see the point in deliberately antagonizing a potential ally. Not again, anyways. “I would suggest keeping him informed of your whereabouts, should you intend to leave the grounds or manor. Oh, and don’t wear any shirts with high collars to dinner.”

With that strange bit of advice, Jeremy left Miles in the care of the housekeeper.

 

\- o – o -

Miles had not known what to expect: if the way the lordling’s eyes had been roving over his body earlier were any indication, he probably overpacked. He mulled over the manservant’s words for a few minutes, trying to make up his mind between a rather loosely fitting blouse, or possibly wearing nothing at all above the waist. Shrugging, he realized that he was still first and foremost a gentleman, and gentlemen do not show up at the dinner table in the demi-nude.

The dining room table was smaller than Miles expected for a manor the size of the Monroe Estate. It felt strangely intimate even before his host - Bass - even entered the room. The candelabra above his head shed appetizing light upon the gastronomic excellencies before him, all strangely arranged on his side of the table. He had almost asked one of the serving wenches whether he’d be dining alone, when the door opened, and Sebastian Monroe glided into the room.

“I trust Jeremy took good care of you on your travels,” the owner of the manor spoke, his eyes once again brazenly scanning Miles from head to toe in a way that was simultaneously offensive and arousing.

“Well, he got me here in one piece,” Miles responded, giving the other man a perfunctory short bow of the head.

The man who called himself Bass flashed an almost predatory smile towards Miles and gestured for him to retake his seat, situating himself in his own chair with the same agile grace that appeared to color all of his movements.

“Your brother was a very foolish man, indeed, Lord Matheson. However, his loss of temper was clearly my gain. And I do hope you don’t find your stay here too..,” he licked his lower lip with careful precision. “Onerous.”

Miles swallowed a lump in his throat and fiddled with the silverware. The knife and the fork appeared surprisingly equally stabby - perhaps his host was careless, or else, entirely unafraid to die.

“Please, eat,” Bass motioned again towards the food set out in front of Miles.

“What about you... uh... Bass?” That came out unconvincing. “Am I really supposed to call you that? Seems a little casual, given the circumstances.”

“Circumstances of what?”

“Of my being here.”

“What do you suppose you should call me then, Miles? Hm?”

Miles blushed, immediately hating himself for the words that jumped into his mind. Lord. _Master_. Ugh, damnation.

“I... I don’t....” He was stammering, actually bloody stammering, in every way that was utterly unacceptable. “Monroe?”

“Perhaps some food and wine will make you feel more... at ease?” Sebastian Monroe made another gesture causing a girl to appear at Miles’ shoulder, filling his glass with rich, dark, fragrant fluid. Wine was an old and trusty friend indeed.

Miles raised his glass in a toast towards his host, who appeared in no hurry to join him. The warmth of the liquid spreading through his gut was blissful. He was careless of paying too much attention to the taste, instead taking greedy, large gulps of liquid courage. In retrospect, he had to admit, the wine was excellent. His glass got refilled with surprising speed. The serving girl moved like a ghost.

“You’re neither eating, nor drinking,” Miles pointed out to his host, stuffing his face full of some delicious bird (possibly pheasant).

“I do not eat the carrion,” Sebastian explained in a rather casual manner. “I prefer something a little more... vital.”

“Your loss.” Miles felt a shiver run down his spine and thought the best way to buoy his own spirits would be by some kind of witty repartee. Unfortunately, wit seemed to have taken a holiday. “This is some seriously tasty carrion,” was the best he could manage.

“Well, you should eat as much of it as you like. You’ll need to keep up your strength.”

Miles would be lying if he said his cock did not give an interested twitch at that. _Bloody hell, Matheson_ , he thought angrily, _get a fucking grip!_ He reached out for his refilled glass, draining that as well.

“Your wine is excellent... Bass.” It slipped from his tongue with slightly more ease this time.

“I want my guests to be comfortable,” Monroe propped his head on his wrist and leaned forward, the merest hint of a smile causing one corner of his mouth to crook upwards. His eyes were glacial, Miles thought. They had the the coolness of ice, yes, but also something about the way they moved and stared at you that made you feel like a single second got stretched into an eternity. Somehow, during that century-long second, Miles’ glass had gotten refilled again. Sebastian blinked. Miles took another bite of Bird, and chased it with more wine.

“Do you... uh... have guests often?” Miles finally managed, forcing his eyes away from his host’s face and towards his own plate.

A movement caught his eye and when he lifted them to gaze across from the table, he found Monroe’s chair empty. 

“What the...”

“Not as often as I like,” the smooth voice sounded from above Miles. He jerked his head upwards, to find his host standing at his side, that same strange smile upon his lips, his hand hovering in the air, gripping a glass which Miles had not remembered ever getting filled. “I was hoping you and I would become good friends, Lord Matheson.” Sebastian moved his hand and brought their glasses together. The sound pierced the air as if the tolling of a distant bell. Miles realized he was getting exceptionally drunk, and drained the contents of his glass just to be sure. It was obviously too late for having second thoughts about coming here.

Sebastian suddenly leaned forward, in that same cat-like fashion that accompanied all his movements, and took Miles’ glass out of his hand, inserting his own hand into Mile’s grip. 

“Friends then?”

“Bass?”

“Yes?”

“You know, you shouldn’t really call me Lord Matheson. That’s my brother’s name.”

“You’re nowhere nearly drunk enough if you are still capable of saying such nonsense,” Monroe replied with a wider smile. Miles could have sworn he saw a flash of fangs, but then again, Bass had been wrong - he _was_ quite sufficiently drunk. The hand in his hand slipped upwards, a strange pressure focusing around the pulse-point in his wrist. Sebastian’s fingers gently stroking over the sensitive skin there. For a few moments, Miles could feel the same glacial stillness. And then, something sparked in his head. _Something more vital._ Sebastian’s face was centimeters away from his own and yet, he could not feel the other man’s breath. _How strange_ , Miles thought, as strong arms lifted him out of the chair and pressed him against the other man’s body with preternatural force. The feel of the supple flesh of Sebastian’s lips along the flushed skin of his neck made Miles shudder and wrap his own arms tightly around his host’s frame. He was so much stronger than he appeared. Miles could feel his own heart pounding, seemingly sending shocks through every part of his body. He had never been so aware of this rhythm before. He didn’t remember the pain of the two identical puncture wounds. He closed his eyes and let the warmth and darkness wash over him.

\- o - o -

Miles opened his eyes with a groan and shut them again just as tightly. There was _far_ too much sunlight pouring into the room, and it wasn’t helping his headache in the slightest. Added to that, there was a dull, throbbing pain alongside his neck and his mouth tasted like wet wool and week-old mutton—never a pleasant combination no matter the circumstance. Which, in this case, was quite comfortable but for the unholy amount of bright morning sunlight that had woken him up. He tried to sit up to get a better view of the room he was in than merely the canopy of the bed he was lying in and the window, only to be immediately forced back into reclining on the mound of soft pillows by a man who’d apparently entered the room while he was trying to marshal himself.

“Stay put,” the man growled, accent thickening his words beyond comprehension. “I will never understand…” He trailed off, muttering under his breath as he put a large black bag onto the night table. Miles watched with some trepidation as his guest opened the silver snaps on the bag and began mixing something in a clear glass tumbler that looked like green tar. “Drink this, and then you may sit up, Lord Matheson.”

Miles grimaced at the appellation but didn’t bother to correct his visitor, whom he had to assume was a doctor. He took the glass and sniffed the contents warily, pleased to note that it smelled a lot better than it looked—there was even a faint trace of mint. The man took a sip and gagged on it almost immediately—unfortunately, smell did _not_ guarantee the taste of the foul concoction. Rather than a more sedate, cleaner method of sipping the foul-tasting brew in manageable mouthfuls, Miles tipped the whole glass back, grimacing as it slid down the back of his throat like a wet, slimy frog. Amazingly, the headache vanished and the dull pain in his neck receded. 

The doctor smiled at him and took the glass, stepping back so Miles could sit up. He looked around the room, taking stock of the decor. It looked cozy and comfortable, as though a member of the family was supposed to live here, instead of a guest. (The guest quarters in Ben’s home were done in an alarming shade of pea green that Miles was certain would cause hysteria and seasickness if one concentrated on it for too long.) This room was a far cry from that. The walls were panelled in oak and had dark red wallpaper that was the approximate color of fresh blood, a thought that rather alarmed Miles, given his (what he hoped was, anyways) drunken hallucination the night before. The offending sunlight that had woken him up streamed in through a large window that, he was pleased to see, had heavy drapes that could be pulled shut if the resident had over-imbibed before bed. Two doorways led to other parts of the room. One was a washroom, although Miles couldn’t see enough of that to make any comments on the decor; the second led to a sitting room that looked just as comfortable as the bedroom. Through the open door, he could see a servant who was almost the exact duplicate of the serving wench from dinner placing a tray on the table. His stomach growled.

Dinner seemed like an eon ago, and he was very hungry, he realized. The food _did_ smell appetizing, even from here. He swung his legs over the side of the bed—which was quite a bit larger than any bed he’d ever occupied, including the one he’d slept in while staying with his elder brother—and attempted to stand up. He collapsed back onto the mattress almost immediately, legs wobbling like a newborn colt’s and unable to support his weight. To his embarrassment, the doctor (Miles had to assume he was, given the headache cure he’d had to gag down a few short minutes ago) returned to his side and picked him up.

“I keep telling him _not_ to take so much on the first night,” the doctor muttered, accent still incomprehensible, “but does he listen to me? _No_. I’m just a doctor.” Miles gave a weak chuckle at the harsh current of annoyance in the man’s voice as he was settled into a comfortable chair by the breakfast table.

The doctor left, still muttering under his breath, and Miles watched him leave, rubbing the side of his neck as he examined the selection of food on the tray. He winced as he encountered two inflamed bumps near his collarbone. The dull ache at the base of his skull returned and Miles closed his eyes, willing the nausea to recede. He sincerely hoped he’d just had the misfortune to be stung twice, and knew he hadn’t been. (More likely, he’d wandered his merry way into the plot of a novel Charlotte would have favored; that thought wasn’t as comforting as it could have been.)  
Pushing the thoughts back so he could concentrate on food, Miles dished eggs and a few pieces of cut fruit onto a bone-white plate, ignoring everything else—fried eggs, slice of grilled aubergine, toast, and several exotic-looking dishes he didn’t know the names of—and began eating. He’d explore the manor more—what he was allowed to explore, anyways—and try to dig up more information on his enigmatic host. Information had saved his life more than once in the past and, while he’d blundered into this situation with information due to a sense of familial obligation, he wasn’t going to go into another meeting unarmed.

Besides, he had the creeping feeling that this was going to be the last dull moment he would ever have.

\- o - o -

Prior to his arrival at the Monroe Estate, the most extensive library Miles had ever encountered was the public library in London. Monroe’s personal library, however, put even that one to shame. If it had ever been written, his host had probably acquired a copy of it. All of the books were organized by subject matter, which Miles was grateful for. It made starting his hunt for more information easier.

For whatever reason, there were extensive copies of household records, including payrolls and tax records. Still, Miles couldn’t complain—it was useful to him, even if it was dull and boring enough to bring him to tears. For example, it detailed the employment of one William Strausser, the doctor who had seen to him earlier that day. (Miles wondered, with a distinct feeling of unease, just _where_ the good doctor had received his medical education, as he was also listed as a butcher for the estate.) The girl who had refilled his wineglass last night with startling promptness, as well as her sister—the girl who had brought him breakfast this morning—were both from Spanish colonies in the Americas.

As dull as some of the records were, it was still information Miles desperately needed. The more he knew about the situation he had landed himself in, the more secure he felt. Unfortunately, the only things he’d learned about his host—since captor wasn’t the right term, and he wasn’t going to apply anything even remotely approaching a romantic sentiment to the man—were that he was obscenely wealthy and very private in his social life. Miles had gone through eight years of records on the estate and had yet to see so much as a formal tea hosted for one of the man’s mistresses—who had since returned to her home country, according to the bill of sale for a ticket on a steamer bound for Hong Kong.

Miles hadn’t realized just how much time he’d spent in the library until his host entered, carrying a lamp and a tray. Miles blinked owlishly at the window, trying to marshal his thoughts. It really _was_ quite dark outside. He smiled sheepishly at Bass as his host put the covered tray down in front of him on the table and took the book he’d been reading away.

“I admire your dedication,” Bass said, “but I would prefer that you remember to eat.” Miles flushed, feeling rather like a naughty schoolboy who’d just been caught trying to put a frog in the teacher’s water pitcher. His stomach growled again as he took notice of the tantalizing scents wafting out from under the cover on the dinner tray, which Miles promptly removed to inspect the feast. There was, again, only a setting for one person. He frowned curiously at his host.

“Eat, Miles,” Bass instructed, leaning back in his seat. “I’ve already…eaten.” The sound of Monroe’s voice sent a shiver through Miles, but he tucked into the food. Something told him not to press the issue with his host. Everything on the tray was far richer than he was used to, which made Miles grimace. He did end up scraping most of the gravy away from the potatoes and meat away with his fork, and ignored the butter for the rolls completely (although he did slather them with the majority of the preserves, still having a sweet tooth that his years in the military hadn’t managed to eradicate). Throughout the entire meal, Bass watched him through hooded lids, an odd smile on his face.

It was extremely disconcerting.

\- o – o -

The Crimean War had gifted Miles with the ability to wake up and be fully alert the second something in his immediate environment changed. It had been useful when there was the chance he might have been shot at any second by a Russian soldier, but the use had been greatly diminished when he had left the military life for one in the civilian sector. His nephew’s need for round-the-clock doctoring hadn’t done his ability to sleep through the night any favors - and even then, that had been shot to hell by nightmares that had given him very little ability to sleep for more than an hour or two at a stretch.

So, of course, he knew someone had entered his bedroom. It took Miles a few seconds to realize that he was no longer in his room at Ben’s house, and that he had forgotten to pack any weaponry. The mattress dipped under someone else’s weight, and Miles rolled onto his side, pretending to be asleep. Better to feign sleep than to give - 

“You’re not asleep, Lord Matheson,” Bass’ voice purred in his ear. “Now, please stop pretending.”

“I told you, you don’t have to call me that,” Miles mumbled, abandoning any feigning of sleep. He had been exceptionally drunk the previous night, but he wasn’t mistaken in having that conversation with his host, as far as he could tell. “And what are you doing sneaking into my chambers in the middle of the night?”

“You will notice, Miles...” Monroe paused, as if savoring the feel of that name on his tongue. His eyes gently trailed from Miles’ face down to the hollow of his neck, causing the prone man to swallow nervously. “I am somewhat of a night owl. I was hoping you might be as well.” Monroe craned his neck sideways, his eyes still determined to follow the contours of Miles’ jugular. Either that, or the man had a very peculiar earlobe fetish. Miles hoped it was the latter.

“I... could always adjust my sleeping schedule to better suit you,” Miles finally replied, trying to keep in mind that he was, after all, here for his host’s pleasure, not the other way around.

“Could you?” Monroe lifted his hand and let it linger in the air, like a suspended hummingbird, before bringing it down lightly upon Miles’ chest. It was almost weightless as it sat there. “It would give us more time to really savor each other’s company.” The slight accent on _savor_ made Miles’ cock jump of its own accord underneath the covers. It was inexplicable how this man could make anything sound sexual, seemingly without even trying. The hand suddenly moved up his chest and settled on the sore side of Miles’ neck. “You appear to be injured there. Did my physician see to your needs?”

“Y-y-yes. You’re very... kind... to ask.” Miles was not in the habit of losing control of his faculties so easily and found the slurring of his speech rather disconcerting.

“Let me see it,” Bass’ voice dropped lower, it was barely louder than a whisper, but to Miles it sent a cacophony of noises right to his restless boner. Without waiting for Miles to acquiesce, his host leaned forward and turned Miles’ face towards him, exposing his neck ligaments to the night air. He peeled the bandage off in one smooth motion. “That looks bad,” Monroe whispered. “You should let me kiss it better.”

“I... what...”

“Shhh.”

Miles felt lips slowly tracing the down the sinews of his neck. There was something pleasantly familiar about that feel, that he just couldn’t place. He leaned into the touch just as a tongue joined the lips in their exploration, circling in quick, wet trails around the puncture wounds on his neck.

“Bass...” Miles sighed, contently. The man was barely even touching him, and every muscle in his body seemed to be calling out to be caressed by his hands, his lips, his tongue. “Please,” Miles moaned, and felt Monroe actually grin against the skin of his neck. That was when he suddenly felt the suction.

It wasn’t the playful suction of a lover trying to leave his mark on his beloved’s body - no - this was different. This was... The pounding in Miles’ temples increased to the point when he thought he might pass out again (as, in retrospect, he must have done the previous night). He was illuminated with the sudden clarity that he was being exsanguinated.

As quickly as the feeling came on, it was over. Bass lifted his face off Miles’ neck, his tongue slowly lapping up the last drops from his own lips and teeth (the same teeth that had previously - almost in another lifetime - had reminded Miles of a tiger). Miles’ hand shot to his neck and came back with two fresh spots of blood on his palm.

“What the hell? What did you do to me? What are you?”

To make things even more confusing, Miles’ cock had apparently been more than on board with the entire proceedings. He cast an accusatory look towards the tent in his sheets and then back at Monroe’s face. Even in the darkness, Miles could tell his host was flushed, and radiated a heat which had not been there mere minutes before.

“What am I?” Monroe smiled amicably. “I believe I am what your people call a Vampire, or Nosferatu. You are familiar with the concept, yes?”

“You mean an old wive’s tale that mothers tell their children to make them behave about a bloodsucking beast that will come and get them in the night if they’re naughty?”

Bass feigned a yawn and directed his eyes towards the tenting in Miles’ sheets. His lips twitched a little, in that sideways smile, which Miles had begun to think of as characteristic of Bass.

“Where I come from, my kind was worshipped as Gods. Not some kind of Boogeymen.”

“So, you’re telling me - what? That you’re immortal?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“And you drink people’s blood - _my blood_ \- for fun?”

“Not for fun, Miles, don’t be so crass. Just because it’s very enjoyable for _you_ ,” his eyes traveled to Miles’ poorly hidden erection again, “doesn’t mean that I do it out of some perverse desire to satisfy my whims. I do it because I need it to survive, just as you need sustenance in the form of carrion and wilting vegetation. It’s really debatable which one of us has a more objectionable diet.”

“ _You_ do!” Miles shouted, flushing with frustration. “Your kind bleeds people to death! We are food to you! You eat us!”

“Not all of you, just the good parts. Miles, really, your righteous indignation is misplaced. I don’t do to your kind anything that your kind hasn’t been doing for millions of years to the rest of the planet. The only difference is that I also keep you as pets, and take good care of you while using you for my sustenance.” Bass waved his hand in the air dismissively, as if the entire discussion was a vortex of nonsense. “You have to admit, I could have been much less genteel about this whole thing. And, besides, you’re still alive, aren’t you?”

“For how long?” Miles growled, finally getting his body under some semblance of control: the tent was lowering.

“For as long as you continue to be pleasing company,” the feral grin was back. “It’s a small price to pay for your imbecile brother’s life, isn’t it?”

“What happens when you’re done with me?”

“That remains to be seen. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we? I was only just beginning to admire your finer qualities. For one thing, your neck truly is a magnificent specimen. And I ought to know - I’m somewhat of a connoisseur of necks.”

Miles couldn’t help but chuckle at that. For a bloodsucking fiend, his host was surprisingly charming.

“Of course, you have other veins, in other parts of your body, that I’m more than happy to feed from as well,” the low purr of a dangerous cat in Monroe’s voice as his face drew near once again gave Miles many conflicting feelings.

“That’s all you want from me, then?” Miles asked, his own voice barely above a whisper, as his vocal chords refused to cooperate.

“What would you like me to want in addition to that?” Even in the darkness, Monroe’s eyes shone with some kind of preternatural light. Miles was afraid of looking into them for too long - clearly, they rendered him devoid of reason. He gave the barest of shrugs, his voice still failing him. “Something... more human, perhaps?” Sebastian shifted so quickly that Miles didn’t realized he had been bodily pinned to the bed until the other man’s hips ground down against his own, and he let out a loud gasp, not realizing he had been holding his breath. “Something... like this?” Monroe brought his lips up against Miles’, teeth gently grazing against the lower lip, pulling at it, almost tenderly. Miles strained his neck upwards, wanting to catch the other man’s mouth with his own, but the infuriating fiend hovered mere millimeters out of his reach. “Do you want me, Miles?” the beautiful incubus asked.

“God... yes,” Miles admitted, no longer giving a care to any of it.

Monroe’s smile was surprisingly bright for the dimly lit room. He brought his lips flush against Miles’ own, finally letting his guest have the full feel and taste of them. They tasted metallic, but there was a hint of something sweeter that lay beyond the taste of Miles’ own blood, and he wanted to explore that flavor to its fullest extent. Miles opened his mouth, letting Sebastian’s tongue in, his own tongue dueling for dominance, trying to explore and learn the heated cavern of the other man’s mouth. And then the lips slipped down again, to gently nibble at his chin, his earlobe, until they reached the neck again, and Miles had accepted his surrender before he even felt the slow drag of sharp points against his skin. Fangs. This was actually happening.

“Give me what I need, and I’ll give you what you want, Miles,” the man crooned against his ear.

“Do it,” Miles replied as the rush of his own pulse beating loudly in his head overtook him, just as it had the previous night.

\- o - o -

Miles had a feeling that waking up to see Doctor Strausser standing over him with a gimlet look in his eye was going to be a regular occurrence for however long he resided with Sebastian. He accepted the glass of green tar (or whatever it actually was) and drank it as quickly as possible. It was just as foul-tasting as it had been yesterday morning, but still had a more than desirable effect on his headache and the pain in the side of his neck.

Strausser gave him a hard look and shook his head, sighing. “I would suggest eating quite a lot today.” The man left, muttering about garlic under his breath. Miles blinked after the man, trying to puzzle out what that meant. Garlic...

Vampires.

_Oh._

Miles flushed, rubbing the bite marks on the side of his neck. He was torn between being pleased with himself for what felt remarkably like a near-conquest and embarrassment over the fact that his host’s physician probably knew more about Sebastian’s nightly visits to his...guests...than he actually let on. Either way, it was unpleasant. Miles sighed, burying his face in his knees. He was sure that, in a few days - or a few weeks - he’d get over his embarrassment. Maybe.

And on the other hand, he might spend the rest of his life moping like Charlotte did after getting her hands on a new romance-oriented novel that _proper_ young ladies of good standing shouldn’t be reading. His stomach growled and Miles laughed. Well, at least his appetite was still normal - for a given value of normal, anyways, especially given his reluctance to eat most of what Bass provided for him.

He made it to the sitting room a few seconds ahead of the servant girl from the morning before and gave her a smile. “Mia Clayton, right?” he asked. It was Mia or Nora, he was sure. For a man as wealthy as Sebastian was, he had very few servants and most of them fulfilled multiple roles in the household. Nora was also something of the housekeeper, in addition to serving guests at dinner (if that was all she did, Miles decided).

The girl gave him an odd look, but nodded. “It’s always a pleasure to have a guest here,” she said in a tone that said she’d rather be anywhere else and not talking with him. “We haven’t had a guest since Miss Priscilla left.”

She gave him another smile - this one didn’t reach her eyes, unlike Bass’, which made his entire face light up - and left. Miles saw two raised bumps on her neck and felt his hand drift up to the matching set on his neck. Well. This was going to be interesting. That did explain how Bass had been feeding himself before Miles’ arrival... He wondered if he’d find identical marks on Jeremy, Nora, and Strausser if he checked.

It was probably best to leave it alone, Miles decided, looking at what was being offered for breakfast. It was, as with dinner yesterday, food that was considerably richer than what he was used to. Given that he was here to keep Bass fed as well, Miles supposed that explained the choices of food. He still ignored the butter and aubergine, not eager to have either in his menu. Ben would have called him an idiot and told him to put the butter on his toast and be grateful for the menu choices.

Miles shoved the irritating mental voice aside and slathered marmalade on his toast.

\- o - o -

Miles’ life settled into something of a routine over the next few weeks. He did change his sleeping pattern, as promised, which left him grouchy and irritable for the first few days - so much so that Bass offered to go back to the original arrangement of coming to his room in the middle of the night to drink. Miles refused and plowed on ahead to keep his promise of becoming more nocturnal to suit his host. Bass was, slowly but surely, becoming more of a friend than simply a master of the manor. He had even started importing ice so Miles could have something to reduce the inflammation on the puncture wounds on his neck: a luxury Miles suspected no one else at the Monroe Estate enjoyed. The rest of the estate adjusted to suit both men, Miles in particular, as they were already used to Sebastian’s own schedule.

He hadn’t thought much about his family, other than the usual obligation that came with letters from Ben - most of which he ignored, except for the few that he _had_ to respond to, to reassure his brother that nothing untoward or remotely dangerous had occurred during his stay with the man Ben had managed to so gravely insult - and a few letters from Charlotte, many of which contained wishes for him to return to London to get rid of her latest fiance, who was not deterred by guns. (In this one’s favor, though, Miles had to admit, was the lack of desire for anything other than a pretty companion.) Then a letter came for Bass, from people whom Miles would assume were the closest thing his...friend, he supposed, had to family. Sebastian left in a hurry, muttering obscenities about them under his breath. He was to be gone for three or four weeks, attending to matters out of the country.

Miles missed Bass after three days of no interruptions from the man. He found himself hovering in front of mirrors, watching the puncture wounds on his neck heal up. There were other ones on his inner thigh that he didn’t like to think about as much. Bass had only fed from that particular vein on special occasions (designated by an internal calendar Miles was apparently not privy to). He always had to jerk off voraciously the next morning after such a session.

He did enjoy not having to keep to a nocturnal routine, however, and took to napping outside on the estate’s grounds - always within sight of the manor, though, because the estate _was_ massive. It seemed even more daunting, given that he had grown up in London and had spent all of his adult life in relatively confined settings.

Jeremy’s remark about letting a member of the household staff know about his intent to leave the manor unaccompanied (the nearest town was rather far away, after all) made sense nearly three weeks after Bass’ departure from the estate. Miles, taking advantage of an unusually warm autumn day, had spent most of it outside under a tree reading a novel. Actually, it was an abomination of literature called _Varney the Vampire_ , but Miles thought it was amusing. Especially given the fact that he was living with an actual vampire.

Unfortunately, Miles had forgotten to inform Mia - who seemed to have taken over looking after him, and had done so with a bit more warmth since their first conversation - that he would again be spending the day on the grounds, and had fallen asleep. It was well towards dusk when he woke up, and it was to a sense of impending doom in the air. He had a feeling he’d forgotten something rather important.

He didn’t realize that Sebastian was due to return sometime between this week and the next until the man was glaring down at him. Miles swallowed and grinned weakly.

“Hello Sebastian. Did you -”

He folded like a house of cards when Sebastian hit him.

Waking up again was decidedly less pleasant. For one, he wasn’t in his room on the second floor of the manor, or even anywhere he could remember being on the estate. For another, his wrists were chained above his head to a rather solid ring. The side of his face hurt, and he had the distinct feeling that he wouldn’t be getting any of the pain reliever Doctor Strausser provided him with after Sebastian fed. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on breathing through his nose. Throwing up would do him no good down here.

The door creaked open and Sebastian entered the room, holding a torch. He looked agitated and angry, rather like the tiger he always seemed to remind Miles off. Except this time, the tiger was considering ripping him apart and eating what was left instead of just using him as a chew toy.

“Hello Sebastian.”

Miles drew back against the wall at the expression of utter loathing that crossed his host’s face. Waking up in what he decided upon better illumination was the manor’s dungeon was one thing, but earning the ire of Sebastian Monroe was going to prove an entirely different thing. Sebastian crossed the room, still holding the torch aloft. The flickering light cast strange shadows across his face, giving him a more demonic appearance than Miles would have ever associated with the man (even taking the fact that he was a vampire into account).

Sebastian hauled him upright, free hand gripping the column of Miles’ neck. Miles choked and gagged, trying to wriggle free of the crushing grip. What bothered him the most was that Sebastian - because this wasn’t Bass, his friend, the one who made jokes about Miles’ sleeping habits or choice of reading material, this was someone entirely different and far more dangerous - had yet to say an actual word to him, besides the odd, low growl that didn’t show any signs of stopping soon. It sent unpleasant chills down his spine.

“You _left_ ,” Sebastian finally hissed through clenched teeth. “And I didn’t know where you were...” Miles had to strain a bit to hear the last part. He heaved in a lungful of air when Sebastian let go of the crushing grip on his neck and stepped back. He watched the vampire start to pace around the small room, torchlight flickering and sending shadows bouncing around the walls.

“What was I supposed to _do_?” Sebastian asked, and Miles could hear the plaintive whine in his voice. If the situation hadn’t been so dire, he would have laughed. “You were gone and I thought you’d left me, and... And you were _gone_.”

The chains around Miles’ wrists rattled as he slid down the wall to sit in a crouch. In the two months he’d been Sebastian’s guest, he never would have thought the man to be afraid of anything. Especially not since the revelation that he was an immortal vampire. But here he was, on the verge of tears (and Miles had to wonder whether vampires actually cried tears of blood, or if that was just a children’s story), all because he’d thought Miles had abandoned him. It was pathetic and incomprehensible, really.

Miles didn’t think he’d made any noise, but Sebastian must have heard something. For the second time that day, Miles felt his host’s fist connect with his jaw. This time, at least, Bass seemed more willing to pull his punch, and Miles remained conscious. He’d forgotten how strong Bass was. He felt the chains around his wrists yanked up, as his arms were pulled and fixed over his head, forcing him to his feet.

“Sebastian,” Miles croaked, jaw twinging in pain, “I wasn’t going to leave.” There was a strangled noise from the vampire that sounded suspiciously like a sob. Miles suddenly had no desire to see whether vampires cried tears of blood, not if it meant he got to watch Bass actually cry. “Hey,” he called out, in what he hoped was his most tender and conciliatory tone. It was preposterous, really, to be the one chained up, yet trying to offer comfort, and to a creature infinitely more stronger than you, no less. The vampire looked up, his eyes endless pools of sparkling blue.

“You weren’t?”

“No. I just forgot to let Mia know where I was going. I was getting restless... you know.... with you gone.”

“Is that true?” Sebastian veered closer, his face hovering close enough to smell a lie on Miles’ breath.

“I was reading _Varney the Vampire_. Would I even be making something like this up?”

Sebastian chuckled at that, his face and posture relaxing, the lines on his forehead smoothing out.

“Were you doing research, Miles?”

“I missed you,” Miles tried. It came out a lot more convincing than he was anticipating. Sebastian slammed him back against the wall, only this time with the force of desire, not in a fit of violence. The chains rattled weakly above Miles’ head. “Do you believe me?” Miles squeezed out between Monroe’s assaults upon his lips with his own.

“You must never,” Sebastian covered Miles’ face in surprisingly hot kisses (he must have fed earlier), “Ever... ever...” His lips trailed down Miles’ neck where the puncture wounds from before were almost entirely healed. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“I won’t,” Miles promised, weakly, his knees buckling beneath him to the point where the chains were actually helping keep him upright. It was so all-consuming, this desire he felt for Sebastian Monroe, and so unlike any kind of lust he’s experiences in the past (no doubt in large part because despite Miles’ very obvious evidence of desire, Sebastian never did give him everything he wanted), he went wild with frenzy from the merest touch of him. And when Monroe fed on him, right before the moment of blacking out, Miles felt his entire body singing a glorious paean to the man who held him prisoner. 

“Promise you won’t leave,” Monroe’s lips and tongue played a cruel game of cat and mouse with his collarbones. It was unfair how badly he wanted the vampire. Miles’ cock throbbed angrily in his trousers, demanding to be paid attention to.

“How come you never let me touch you?” Miles asked, thrusting his hips forward, seeking friction from the man in front of him.

“You have to promise me. You can’t leave.” Monroe’s eyes were boring into Miles’ own.

“I gave you my word when I got here, didn’t I?”

“That was before you knew who I was - _what_ I was.”

“Look,” Miles started, his eyes slowly panning to his own bulge. “You see it clearly makes no difference to me, and certainly not to Little Captain.”

“You named your cock Little Captain?”

“It’s ironic. It’s actually not little at all.” Miles winked and pulled weakly at the chains. “Are you going to release me?”

The vampire took a step back to admire the view in front of him: Miles Matheson, hair all tousled as if he’d just gotten out of bed, pants bulging, breath coming in quick succession, and completely trussed up.

“I think I like you just the way you are,” Monroe responded, the twitch of a smile lighting up his countenance.

“You told me if I gave you what you needed, you’d give me what I wanted. But you haven’t exactly lived up to your side of the bargain, have you?” He added, “Bass?”

“You humans have very simple desires.” The sideways smirk dissolved into a full, toothy grin. Miles thought Bass was beautiful when he smiled like that, with his entire face. He returned Monroe’s smile, shyly.

In the blink of an eye, Monroe was touching him again, his hands exploring the exposed planes of Miles’ sides and abdomen. A small moan escaped Miles lips and he canted his hips towards his immortal tormentor again, begging for friction.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Bass mumbled against Miles’ neck, sending more waves of desire downwards. “Let me make it up to you.” Bass slid slowly down to his knees, hands trailing with painful precision down every ripple of Miles’ body. His fingers quickly undid Miles’ breeches with the same supernatural speed that accompanied most of his movements.

“Oh God... Bass.” Miles strained against his restraints, turned on beyond reason, and hoping his host wasn’t going to leave him high and dry, literally, as it were.

His worry, however, turned out to be unfounded, as Monroe reached inside and finally extracted his fully engorged cock, the cool air hitting Miles and driving him wilder yet.

“Please,” he begged, shamelessly, his eyes on the head of soft, blond curls below his waistline. He heard another soft chuckle and Monroe looked up from beneath the canopy of his thick lashes. “Fuck,” Miles moaned, “You’re so beautiful.”

Monroe took Miles’ cock in one of his hands, the other hand clutching tightly at his prisoner’s hip, and gave it a few hard strokes, as if testing it for stability, tearing another moan out of Miles’ throat. Evidently pleased with this reaction, Monroe very carefully rubbed his cheek against the velvety hardness in his hand, the stubble on his cheek in sharp contrast against the sensitive skin. Miles felt overwrought with sensation from that simple act alone and stared downwards, his mouth agape, bereft of words. At last, after what felt like an eternity, Bass opened his mouth and snaked out his tongue, dragging it along the sensitive underside of Miles’ swollen cock, base to tip.

“Holy mother of god!” Miles exclaimed, causing Bass to hum in approval. 

And then the wet heat of Monroe’s mouth was upon him, all around him, sucking him all the way down in one fell swoop. Miles emitted a choked gasp. He had not thought of this before, but now it was evident that vampires did not need to breathe. The movement of Monroe’s mouth all the way along the shaft, slow but steady movements, taking him all the way in with each stroke, was overwhelming all in itself, and Miles was lost to the feeling of pleasure building up inside him, threatening to take him apart. And that was before he felt Bass’ fangs.

“Fuck!”

They did not hurt, merely teased at him, adding to the maelstrom of sensation washing over Miles. Something so wonderful, so _dangerous_ , Miles didn’t think he could be any more aroused.

“Fuck, Bass! Oh God!” He wasn’t fully aware of the nonsense coming out of his mouth. His entire world had suddenly narrowed down only on that one spot where his cock was repeatedly disappearing into Sebastian’s willing mouth. A few more sure strokes of the tongue and Miles was gone, coming like he hadn’t in what felt like eons down the vampire’s throat. His body went limp in the chains, buzzing from the aftershocks coursing through his veins.

Then he remembered how strong his lover was again, when with one arm, Sebastian lifted his limp form up, and pressed him close, mouth and fangs seeking out that source of his own vital need. He drank from Miles with the thirst of a man who had just come in from the desert, but it never occurred to Miles to protest or ask him to let up. With a slowly settling horror at the realization, it dawned on Miles that he trusted Bass to stop before his last heart-beat.

As he went limp, Miles was dimly aware of the door clanging open again. Someone entered the room, and then Bass was ripped away from his neck. He moaned at the loss of sensation, even though he knew it was probably the only thing keeping him from Death’s door (but it would have been a fantastic way to go). Fighting against the desire to pass out, Miles watched a stocky blond man he vaguely recognized through the haze grappling with Bass and losing. Bass didn’t look happy about his dinner getting interrupted, which made Miles emit a drunken-sounding laugh.

Before he passed out, the man’s voice registered.

Jeremy. The idiot.

“ _Are you trying to kill him, Monroe?!_ ”

Miles passed blissfully into the arms of unconsciousness.

\- o - o -

Miles didn’t recognize the canopy over the bed. Given that he had memorized his - right down to the stain that he thought might have been blood, hidden away in one corner near the far posts - it worried him. The arms wrapped around his middle and the head tucked against his shoulder, though, were much more reassuring. It made the forest green canopy more relaxing. It still felt like he was in a coffin, as the drapes were closed, but he suspected that that was the point. It was Sebastian’s bed, after all.

He had to laugh at that. He honestly _had_ been expecting his... What was a good term? Lover, was probably the closest, perhaps. He’d been expecting his lover to sleep in a coffin, possibly buried under the root cellar to await the setting of the sun and a chance to prowl around the manor to bother his human guest for breakfast. The vampire in question snorted softly in his sleep, curling impossibly closer to Miles, who was the warmest person available. It was rather like being used as a human-shaped hot water bottle, but safer.

Absently, Miles ran a hand through Bass’ curls, enjoying the feeling of just being able to touch and enjoy the slow process of awakening. With the exception of the month Bass had been gone, he’d woken up almost every day to see his lover’s physician standing over him with a pain reliever and a poultice for his neck. As much as he liked the pain reliever, Miles really did wish Mia or Mia’s strangely absent sister would give it to him instead. (He would have begged for Sebastian to be the one to give it to him, but vampires slept during the day, or were preparing to sleep when Miles needed the tonic.) The manor’s physician had no bedside manner to speak of.

“Speak of the devil,” Miles mumbled under his breath as he heard a door opening. When the drapes on his side of the bed were opened, though, Miles was pleasantly surprised to see Jeremy there instead, holding a change of clothes and a brush.

“I thought you might want actual sleep wear and something to eat,” Jeremy said in an undertone as Miles extricated himself from Bass’ grip, albeit rather reluctantly. Miles watched with some amusement as Bass latched onto his pillow and curled around it, still fast asleep. He turned his attention back to the manservant and smiled ruefully as his stomach growled.

He didn’t miss the dark look Jeremy gave Bass either, but supposed it had something to do with the still-healing puncture wounds on his neck - matched by several livid-looking sets on Jeremy’s neck - and what he vaguely remembered Jeremy doing last night. He cleared his throat, and Jeremy looked over his shoulder from where he was laying out a place setting for Miles.

“Thank you,” Miles said, wincing at the rasp in his voice. “For... For last night.” Jeremy gave him an odd look, then nodded.

“You should eat before your food gets cold. And eat the butter this time. You’ll want the rich food while you’re recovering.” With that, Jeremy left. Miles tried hard not to picture the livid wounds on the servant’s neck and buttered a roll with a mulish expression on his face.

He had to admit, though, that the food did taste better when he ate it like civilised people who had never been to war did. Although he still didn’t like the butter.

When Miles was finished eating, he crawled back into Bass’ bed and pulled the drapes shut before taking his spot in Bass’ arms back from his pillow. He would ask Jeremy if he needed anything for his...injuries later.

After he’d had some more sleep.

\- o - o -

After waking up in Sebastian’s bed, things settled down into their old routine at the Monroe Estate. Miles was secretly grateful for this, especially as it meant he saw more of Sebastian in a good mood. Waking up every evening in the older man’s arms was definitely better than waking up alone every morning. He’d come to enjoy Sebastian sleepily nuzzling at his neck, fangs half-out as the vampire sought breakfast. (He’d also come to learn that it was quite alright to push Sebastian away if the vampire didn’t stop drinking.)

Sebastian’s other appetites were a bit more bewildering. It would appear as if some kind of incomprehensible moral code would dictate to him that if he was going to be sucking off Miles’ neck, he was bound by duty to suck off Miles’ cock as well. Not that Miles was complaining - the vampire was such an expert cock-sucker that Miles was beginning to wonder what they taught you at the Vampire Academy. But every time he’d try to initiate anything that would be remotely reminiscent of sexual reciprocation, Sebastian would pull away, move Miles’ hand to the side, shift out of his reach, and generally maneuver out of cock range, declaring any such activity “unnecessary.” And Miles had to admit he was beginning to question his definition of that word because each subsequent dawn, when he would snuggle up to Bass, face burrowed into the cool, soft skin of his neck, fingers combing gently through his curls, he would question the “necessity” of making love to his host. 

And that was the long and short of it, wasn’t it? He wanted to make love to Bass. He wanted more than to be an afternoon snack in exchange for a magnificent blow-job out in the star-spangled apple orchard. Perhaps vampires really didn’t need sex the way humans did. Perhaps Miles was becoming overly complacent with his entire lodging situation. Somewhere along the way, he had forgotten that he was a hostage, after all, there to be needful, rather than desired.

But with those thoughts pushed aside, his situation may not have been enviable, but it was certainly not too shabby. Even Doctor Strausser was becoming more tolerable, although Miles was fairly certain that that was only because he’d grown used to the man’s presence and knew he wouldn’t get the painkiller tonic from anyone else. It wasn’t enough to really bother himself over, and Miles got used to that fact as well. It was that or find some other method of pain relief, and he really didn’t want to try any of Bass’ suggestions (many of which sounded rather painful, and did not include Bass holding his hand through any of them).

The only thing that hadn’t become routine were letters from Charlotte and Daniel, which did afford Miles some concern over their contents. Ben would never forbid Danny from contacting anyone (Miles had absolutely _no_ idea who’d taught the boy the puppy dog look _or_ how to fake an illness to get his way, which, given how sickly the boy was, couldn’t have been that hard), but Charlotte he’d keep from all contact in a heartbeat. The last letter Miles had received from his niece at the estate had come three weeks after the _Incident_ that had shown Miles just how truly off-kilter his host - now lover - was. It had proclaimed that the world was ending, which Miles took to mean she had finally been married off. He almost pitied whomever the girl had married.

Almost.

But the lack of letters from Daniel after the fact… No, that one was worrisome. Miles mentioned it to Bass one evening as they were waking up, only in passing, and didn’t think about it again. (It was hard to think about anything when a vampire was nuzzling at your neck and doing a very good job of distracting you from anything important.) And, of course, with the Yule Season fast approaching, he soon lost the train of worrisome thought somewhere in the shuffle. If there was one mortal pastime Bass seemed to enjoy (aside from reading, a fact that Miles knew through personal experience), it was Christmas holidays. Even the staff seemed to enjoy it, and Miles had yet to see anyone bothered by the fact that Bass was taking far more blood than usual from his coterie.

Christmas morning had always been Miles’ favorite part of the season, especially waking up to realize he wasn’t dead, there would be food later in the day, and there was a package to rip brightly colored paper off of after dinner. (He also had _no_ idea who’d taught Charlotte how to destroy wrapping paper like that.) With Sebastian, though, celebrations started in the evening and everyone was nocturnal for the twelve days it took for them to cover the celebrations and all of the festivities. Miles’ present arrived on the sixth day of Christmas.

He was rather alarmed by the contents.

Bass had pulled him into a sitting room he’d never been in before, that odd, annoyingly smug smirk on his face as Miles tried to guess what he was going to receive. Miles had stopped almost as soon as he’d seen the figure on the fainting couch. Bass hurried over and knelt down, placing one unnaturally cool hand on the boy’s forehead. He smiled at Miles as the mortal man looked on in horror.

“Aren’t you happy to see him?”

Miles could hear the desperate note in Bass’ voice. He swallowed and tried to regain his own voice. All that came out was a strangled croak. There was a reason his nephew had never left the nursery, even though he was almost eighteen. He was weak, infirm, and a good number of things were liable to kill him. Before he could respond, Bass was behind him, hands on his shoulders. Bass’ voice was soft against his ear, and decidedly lethal in undertones as he whispered.

“I can make sure he is never ill again. Never has to suffer, never has to die… His family won’t have to watch him waste away. He’ll be healthy, strong, able to run...” Bass’ voice was practically a purr, and it sent an unpleasant chill down Miles’ spine. He finally found his voice.

“And what do you want from me?” he ground out, unable to take his eyes off Daniel, who was grimacing in his sleep. His cheeks were flushed again, and his nightshirt was damp with sweat. Miles had to restrain himself from injuring Sebastian - the vampire had done something unbelievably _stupid_ , dragging the child out in horrible weather while he was so… Well, fragile.

“Promise that you’ll join us. That… that you’ll never leave me?” Bass’ fingers did a hesitant dance across Miles’ shoulders and the sides of his neck, as though he couldn’t decide what he wanted to do with them. It didn’t exactly comfort Miles, although, in some deranged way, he thought he understood why Bass was doing this.

“I already promised I wouldn’t leave,” Miles said gently, turning around to face Bass, away from his nephew. “I did.”

Bass frowned and looked away, chewing on his lower lip. “Still mortal,” he mumbled. “Humanity is so fragile. You’ll die and I’ll be alone again. Please, just… just promise that you’ll stay, and I’ll cure your nephew. We… We could be a family. I could even bring Charlotte, in a year, if you like.”

Miles blinked. It was obvious that Bass was desperate. While he _had_ made a promise, months ago, that he wouldn’t leave, he had _never_ imagined that it would come to an actual eternity. (He had not actually been averse to the idea, but every time he had thought about it - on rare occasions when he’d indulge in such thoughts - he’d been drunk and it seemed somehow less serious through the haze of the wine.) He wouldn’t leave. But that didn’t mean he’d join Sebastian as a member of the undead. Especially not with the danger the older man had put Daniel in, abducting him. It was incredible that the boy…

He paused. It was entirely possible that that was why Sebastian had abducted Daniel in the middle of winter, when he _knew_ it would probably kill the boy. He’d have thought it would force his guest’s hand, force him to make the choice in a split-second because of a promise he’d made months previous. Miles swallowed, suddenly aware of just how precarious his situation was. If he refused, Sebastian would likely fly into a rage and kill both of them. If he accepted, there was no guarantee that either he or Daniel would survive the process. But it would have been enough comfort for his host, knowing that he’d attempted to bring his lover over, so that he would never be alone again. (Miles had the distinct feeling that, if he’d died, there wouldn’t be any _staff_ left, much less a manor.)

Miles looked at Daniel, who’d settled down again. He still looked flushed and exhausted, even though he’d only been sleeping. Miles rubbed both hands over his face, thinking. After a few minutes, he turned to Bass.

“I… Just… Give me a day to think about this.” Bass’ face broke into a wide, beatific grin. Miles scowled. “And I’ll be sleeping in my old room. _Alone_.” Bass’ face fell, but he nodded. Miles reminded himself that he needed the day to think about what he was actually going to do about this predicament, and about how dire the situation was for Daniel, to keep himself from going to comfort Bass.

“I’ll have Doctor Strausser come to look after Daniel,” Bass said softly. Miles stared at the ceiling until he heard the door close, pretending he hadn’t heard how utterly _hurt_ Bass had sounded. If he’d looked at the man, he’d have lost any conviction he’d had and would have given in. (It bothered him, the sheer amount of power Bass had over him, no matter how much he wished it was otherwise.)

He sighed and knelt down next to the couch Daniel was sleeping on and put a hand on the boy’s forehead. In response, the boy turned towards him, still fast asleep but seeking out comfort. He stayed there for a few more minutes, doing his best to reassure himself that his nephew was still alive and whole, if not entirely healthy. Whatever his decision the next evening, Miles knew it might have even stronger, stranger consequences for his nephew.

Miles wondered, silently, what would have happened if he’d merely left Ben to his own devices. And, for the first time in quite a while, crawled into a cold, empty bed with only this thoughts to run circles around his head until he fell asleep.

\- o - o -

He’d forgotten what it was like to wake up alone. Miles had stirred from sleep with the distinct feeling that something was _wrong_ and had stared blankly up at the canopy as he tried to remember. He’d then turned to talk to Sebastian, only to realize he was in his old room again. Sebastian was nowhere to be seen. Then the events of the night before came rushing back to him. Miles pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face in them, tangling his fingers in his too-long hair. (He needed to visit a barber, but that wasn’t exactly a priority at the moment, compared to just how badly things were liable to go with Sebastian at any moment.)

Miles’ biggest concern was that Daniel was somewhere in the manor, being held prisoner against his promise to never leave Bass - in that he would join his lover as an immortal, bloodsucking fiend. (He was still a bit sore about the fact that Sebastian had abducted and nearly killed his nephew.) He had no idea where Daniel was, having been in a bit of a daze after he’d begged for a day to mull over his decision, and even then, no idea if he would be allowed to see the boy. He didn’t think Sebastian would be that cruel, especially given his fear of abandonment by the one person he considered to be family, but he’d been wrong about his host’s capacity for cruelty before.

Forever was a long time to be contemplating on an empty stomach and someone had clearly been thoughtful enough to set some food out for him. As much as he would have liked to turn it down on principle, his stomach was vocal about having its own agenda. Miles picked at some of the bread and cold cuts, his mind somewhere else, until the rumbling of his gut subsided.

It turned out that locating Daniel was a lot easier than he had anticipated it to be. Either no one was given instruction to actually hide him, or else Jeremy’s will to live was even more tenuous than Miles’ own.

“You can find him in the library. Is this a family thing? Do all Mathesons have such a predilection for books?”

“He’s up and about?” Miles inquired with a sense of distrust.

“I saw Monroe escort him there personally,” Jeremy confirmed with a smirk, “And under his own steam, no less. He’s the picture of health.”

A thought crossed Miles’ mind that sent him reeling, his feet taking him towards the library as if they had sprouted Hermes-like wings. Was it possible Sebastian had turned Daniel already without waiting for Miles’ reply? He would have done such a thing, if for no other reason that to force his hand once more. Well, he had another thing coming, Miles thought bitterly. It might tear out his heart, if he was to be entirely honest, but he would stake the bloodsucker himself if his suspicions were confirmed.

“Uncle Miles!” The boy bounced to his feet with such alacrity, his toothy grin lighting up his entire face, that Miles almost forgot the source of his worry. Almost. He wrapped his arms around his nephew in a strong embrace and held him until he was sure that could feel the rhythmic pounding of his heart. Not a vampire then. 

“Good lord, Danny…” Miles ran his hands over the boy’s face, as if to reassure himself again that he was real and alive. “What have you gotten yourself into?”

“Lord Monroe said he would take me to you.”

“And you just went? Willingly?”

“He also said he could make me well again.” The boy took a step back, a smug expression on his face. “And he did! I’ve never felt better.”

“ _How?_ ” Miles still couldn’t believe his eyes. It was as Jeremy said - a picture of health. So not a vampire, and also not ill. What on earth was happening?

Danny frowned, brow wrinkling. “He gave me something to drink.” Miles’ fear and annoyance must have shown through, because his nephew was quick to reassure him. “The physician said it was safe!” Miles wondered if beating Strausser would be a bad thing, before focusing on his nephew again. He’d never seen the boy full of so much energy or vigor; before, Danny had always been pale and liable to fall over in a light breeze. 

But now, it was clear that whatever had been in that drink (and Miles had the sneaking suspicion he knew just _what_ the secret ingredient had been), it had done his nephew a world of good. The elder Matheson just had to wonder what this would cost his nephew in the future. More importantly, how long would it last? As much as he wanted this to last, for his nephew to be healthy for the rest of his life, he had to suspect some kind of trap in this gift.

His nephew chattered on like a squirrel, seemingly oblivious to his uncle’s thoughts chasing around in his brain. That, or he’d become used to people ignoring him unless he was ill, and had learned to simply plow on regardless. However Sebastian had done it, though, Miles was secretly glad that his lover had. Even if it was to guilt him into accepting.

Several hours later, when Danny had been escorted back to his room so Doctor Strausser could make sure he was still in perfect health, Miles went to find Sebastian. He had a feeling this wasn’t going to be a conversation he would enjoy - and it would likely become one that he would regret in some manner, years later. Sebastian wasn’t in his rooms in the lower levels of the house - nowhere near the basement where he had once imprisoned Miles for an imagined slight - and neither was he anywhere else Miles thought to seek him out. Eventually, he went to Jeremy in the kitchen to ask if the manservant knew where to find the lord of the manor.

The look on Jeremy’s face told Miles that something was wrong. He endured the oppressive silence for a few moments before he asked.

“Has he done something?”

The look on Jeremy’s normally kind, open face could almost be described as one of loathing, Miles decided. He had to wonder if he’d crossed one of the undefined, invisible boundaries of the Monroe household before Jeremy finally replied.

“He’s hidden himself in the Gallery.” Jeremy’s face fell. “Lord Matheson -” He ignored the look on Miles’ face, a sure protest at being called ‘lord’, “Lord Monroe only goes up there if he’s in one of his depressive moods. The last time, he didn’t come down for three months, and nearly killed half the staff trying to sate his hunger after the mood had passed.”

“What happened… last time?” Miles asked, throat dry. They had paused in front of a window which was throwing shadows onto the wall behind them.

“The Council reminded him why he wasn’t allowed to bring his family… across, I think, was the term. It hurt him quite badly.” Jeremy sighed, running his hands through his hair. “I have worked for Lord Monroe since I was a boy. In all that time, he has only ever mentioned his mortal family twice. The first, when he offered my father a position in the household when I was eight. He said that my father reminded him of his. The second time, he was blood-drunk and crying into my shoulder.” Jeremy’s face softened a little, before a scowl appeared. “When milord was turned, he begged the council to let him bring his family across. He had two young sisters and, from what I was told, would believe they hung the moon.”

Miles didn’t find it difficult to believe that a man like Monroe had once had a family. Unbidden, the memory of his host rushing to Danny’s side to make sure he was, if not well, no worse off than he had been before rose to the forefront of his mind. Before he could contemplate it further, Jeremy’s voice broke through again.

“When he argued, the Council had him locked in a cellar for nearly a year. He was starved until he was a ravening beast. They set him on his father first.”

Miles felt the bile rise up in his throat.

“So, no, it’s not so much something he’s done, as what you’ve done that’s sunk milord into a depression bad enough to make him hide himself in the Gallery. Follow me.”

\- o - o -

The Gallery, as Jeremy had called it, was a long, dusty room at the very top of the manor. Heavy black drapes were pulled over the windows to keep out any hint of light. It reminded Miles of a crypt, but he supposed that was the point. Sebastian was at the end of the hall, half-curled on a dais. Miles couldn’t tell in the near-dark, but he suspected his lover was crying. He _really_ didn’t want to know, especially not now, whether vampires cried tears of blood or not. Slowing down until he was almost at a snail’s crawl, Miles approached the vampire. He froze below the dais, staring at the portrait hanging on the wall. Even in the poor lighting, Miles could see how lovingly each figure had been rendered.

With a lurch, Miles realized that he was looking at what was probably the only proof that Sebastian had ever had a family. Sebastian’s father was a tall, slim man with bright blue eyes. Sebastian’s mother, though, was the one his lover had inherited his golden curls from. Miles pressed a hand over his mouth, trying very hard not to make any noise. Not that it mattered, of course, given Sebastian’s obscenely good hearing.

“What do you want, Matheson?” the vampire rasped. “Come to torment me? To run away again? ...I fixed your nephew, you know,” Sebastian added in an undertone. “But you’ll leave me anyways. I heard Jeremy telling you all about what a monster I am. You… You should leave, before I kill you.”

“Bass,” Miles began, the accustomed tenderness seeping into his tone.

“Go,” Sebastian repeated, his back still turned towards Miles. “Either way, I promised you a day, so you still have until dusk tomorrow.”

Miles slowly turned on his heel, a resigned sigh escaping him. “If that’s what you want,” he mumbled under his breath.

“But,” Sebastian’s voice halted him in the doorway. Miles turned around again to see that this time his lover was facing him. Vampires, it turned out, did not cry blood after all. “This may not mean much to you, but… I thought you should know… either way… before you leave. I did it for you. It may not make sense to you now. It may seem callow and manipulative. I offer you eternity, Miles, and as much as you think it’s a selfish proposal, everything I’ve done since you’ve agreed to come here, I have done out of my desire to make you happy.” The vampire rose and spread out his arms in a gesture of futility. “So, there it is.”

The lump in Miles’ throat was the size of a grapefruit. He wanted to say something, something comforting and reassuring, but words froze on the tip of his tongue. If this really was the last time he was going to see Bass, he should say something, _do_ something. 

“Thank you,” he finally emitted in a choked voice, and ran out of the Gallery. 

He could now add being a coward to the list of things he’s been hating lately about himself.

He wasn’t sure what exactly he had thanked Monroe for: for sparing his life, perhaps, more than once; for letting him go when he had full right to keep him indefinitely; for Danny even. He sometimes forgot that the man he had grown so close to, the _creature_ he had come to rely on, and yes, to love, had always been so much more powerful than him, could’ve squashed him like a fly at any moment. And yet, he had given him a choice, as an equal.

He headed to the garden; he had always enjoyed the garden, even in the night air. Suppose he said “No” to eternity, what then? He thought about what it would be like to grow old while Bass remained forever young. How Bass would have to watch him age and become decrepit. Best case scenario, it would break Bass’ heart to watch Miles deteriorate and, eventually, die. Worst case scenario, Bass would throw him out and find himself a new chew-toy. Neither option was that appealing, really.

Suppose he said “Yes.”

Forever. Always. Those were not words Miles Matheson had ever wanted to contemplate. That is, until Sebastian Monroe flitted into his life. How could something so macabre have brought so much light into his life? He’d never felt more vibrant than the moments when Bass’ teeth were firmly ensconced in between the sinews of his neck. It made no sense, but there it was.

But to be a creature of the night for all eternity? To feed on the blood of other humans? No, no, it was ridiculous to contemplate even. Monroe had given him a way out, and he would have to take it. He’d be an idiot not to.

There was still, of course, the not so small matter of Daniel. Miles felt he couldn’t make this kind of a decision with Danny’s life still hanging over his head, taining everything. No, if Bass wanted him to truly be free to choose, he must let Danny go. He might have become a coward because he couldn’t handle the onslaught of his own emotions, but he couldn’t be a coward on Danny’s behalf. He would have to return to the manor to face Monroe again.

\- o - o -

When dusk fell the day after Sebastian made his first, tentative offer of immortality, Miles had reached a decision. He just needed to find his lover and ask for some concessions first. There was his nephew to consider, after all; as much as he disliked his elder brother, Miles didn’t want anything to happen to his brother’s son. Danny was, in this affair, an innocent. His health was a gift in return for Miles promising not to leave. (And, loathe as Miles was to admit the point, Sebastian had found a most excellent motivator.)

He paced around his room, trying to puzzle out how to put his desires to Sebastian. He’d never had this issue before, aside from the first few weeks he had resided on the Monroe Estate, but that had been due to circumstances that had since resolved themselves. The door opened with a slight creak, startling Miles. He looked up, eyes narrowed in annoyance. His expression softened almost immediately as he saw his nephew standing there, looking awkward. Miles had to wonder where Daniel had gotten the clothes he was currently wearing, as the boy was a few seconds away from disappearing into the folds of the massive overcoat.

“Daniel,” Miles said politely. Well, that was one problem solved. All he needed was Sebastian and then he could speak his piece. His nephew gave him a half-smile and slipped into the room, closing the door gently behind him. “How are you?”

The boy shrugged one shoulder, looking at the window. “I’ve never felt better,” he finally replied, still playing with the fraying edge of one cuff. “Lord Monroe said he would be along shortly. He said there were matters the three of us had to discuss.” Miles nodded.

The two Mathesons sat in silence, watching the sky deepen past purple to near-black. The moon had begun shining through the window when Sebastian finally arrived. Miles thought his lover looked ill. There were dark shadows under his eyes and it looked as if he hadn’t even bothered to change his clothing or attempt any type of grooming before coming. Given what he had learned in the Gallery the night before about his lover’s family, though, and how broken and vulnerable Sebastian had appeared then - because of _his_ actions...well, Miles couldn’t blame him for his appearance and demeanor.

Miles stood up, holding up a hand to keep Sebastian from saying anything. “I want Danny to be returned home, as soon as possible.” Sebastian looked at him, mouth open as though he were about to speak. He closed his mouth a few seconds later and nodded. “When he’s on his way home, I’ll tell you my decision.” Miles smiled at Sebastian and crossed the short distance between them, cupping the side of his lover’s face with his hand. Sebastian’s skin was unnaturally cool, even for a vampire, which made Miles wonder when Sebastian had last fed. “I promise.” He didn’t care that his nephew was still in the room. Sebastian needed him, needed this tenderness. Especially after what he’d said, had done two nights ago.

If he’d bothered to look, he would have seen his nephew staring studiously up at the ceiling as though it were the most fascinating thing in the world.

\- o - o -

Miles waited in the sitting room off the grand entrance to the manor, watching the lanterns on the back of the sleigh carrying his nephew away from the estate grow dimmer and dimmer before fading into the distance. He was honestly a little surprised that Sebastian had agreed so readily, until he remembered the two little girls in the picture several levels above him. Danny’s eyes were almost the same color, now that he thought about it. And with that thought, a familiar ache entered his heart. He needed to speak with Sebastian. His lover had trusted him enough to let go of his only bargaining chip. Sebastian had sent Danny off with a case of whatever it was that had made him well again, which Miles thought was beyond his wildest expectations of generosity for the vampire.

He stood up when the door opened again, admitting Sebastian, who padded over to the sideboard, not looking at him. Miles was reminded of his niece, when she had been younger and at the stage where she was refusing to talk to anyone because she was afraid she wouldn’t get what she had been begging her parents for even after some sort of concession she’d made in return for it. It was, in equal measures, the act of a petulant child and rather… cute, if he had to apply the term to Sebastian as well. Miles hid a smile behind his hand as Sebastian looked over at him.

“So, Lord Matheson,” Sebastian said, “what will you tell me now?”

Miles crossed the room and pressed a chaste kiss to his lover’s temple. He drew back and immediately felt guilty at the stunned, hurt look on Bass’ face. Sebastian opened his mouth to speak when Miles cupped his face with both hands.

“I promised you that I wouldn’t leave,” Miles reminded him. “I promised. Do you still trust me to keep that promise?”

The smile on Sebastian’s face could put the sun to shame. 

“Are you saying - yes?” The vampire’s lower lip trembled.

“Yes, to everything. I want to be with you.”

Miles’ first thought as Sebastian pulled him down for a kiss was that he must have fed recently, because his lips were quite warm. His second thought, instinctively more selfish, was more concerned with just how he was going to be brought across. It would probably hurt, of course, and then Sebastian’s lips were on his again and the sensation overwhelmed his worried train of thought completely until he was left gasping for air. (That would be one advantage to being a vampire: he could kiss his lover for as long as he liked without that pesky need to breathe.)

He gasped in shock as Sebastian’s lips left his and latched onto his neck at the juncture of his shoulder. Two sharp pricks of pain emanated from where Sebastian must have bitten him. Miles didn’t expect him to be in such a hurry, but having agreed, what else was there for him to wait for? 

Sebastian drank. This time, though, something felt different. This wasn’t what it felt like when Sebastian wanted to feed. There was a rhythm to the feeding, an almost lulling ebb and flow that was somehow reassuring. This felt more like being swept up in the eye of a hurricane. Losing his purchase on the ground, Miles clung to Sebastian with blanching fingers. It was too late to turn back and, as much as it pained him to admit it, he was terrified. He could feel everything slipping away. If one were to say that his life flashed before his eyes, it might have been a clichéd exaggeration, but he did see things. Faces. He saw Sebastian’s face most of all.

“Bass…” he sighed as he felt some semblance of release, the grasp around him slackening, his body sliding to the ground like a marionette cut from the string. He was dying. Sebastian’s face loomed over his, the angelic halo of curls in stark contrast to the blood dripping from his fangs. For a moment, Miles thought it was possible that this was a game that he had gambled and lost. What if Bass doesn’t actually turn him? He was going to die there, on the marbled floor of a vampire’s castle, far away from his family, and all because for a few moments he had allowed himself the luxury of thinking he was in love. It was ludicrous, really.

Suddenly, Bass leaned over and Miles could see through the fog of his dying vision that he had opened up a gash in his own jugular. The soft skin of his neck pressed against Miles’ lips and his mouth filled with the metallic yet shockingly sweet taste of his blood.

“Drink,” Sebastian commanded, lifting Miles’ head up, pressing him against his neck, cradled like a child in this immortal embrace. Miles drank until he felt he was about to choke. “There. Good.” Sebastian’s fingers were a welcoming grounding force on the back of his skull. “Don’t be afraid. You will sleep now and when you awaken, we’ll truly be together, Miles.”

Miles felt a shiver run through his joints. This didn’t work - he was going to die anyways. He looked up into Sebastian’s glowing eyes and then the darkness took him.

\- o - o -

He woke up in impenetrable blackness. It felt oppressive and far too close for comfort, and Miles felt panicked. He wanted out, he wanted to see Sebastian and…

He was very, _very_ hungry. Miles growled impatiently and lifted his hands so he could try to find some way out of the horrible, sepulchral darkness surrounding him. Then, when he was free, he was going to drain the first person he saw, or at least drink until he was no longer starving. After that, he’d find Sebastian. Sebastian. He needed Bass; _now_. He promised they’d be together. It wasn’t right, that he wasn’t with him, stuck in this place. He _hated_ it.

With an agonized roar, Miles began punching at the wooden panel over him. Wood splintered and flew up, away from him. He tore at the wood, wanting to stop that agonizing, wounded-animal howl. He didn’t even realize it was coming from him until he’d torn most of the lid away from the coffin he’d been locked in. Miles growled impatiently and looked around. His neck hurt, he wasn’t near Sebastian, and he was still starving. At least he hadn’t been buried underground.

The smell of something unbelievably sweet, something that reminded him of treats his mother had made when he and Ben had been children, wafted towards him. Miles paused, perched like some hunting hawk on what remained of his coffin’s lid. He scented the air, unsure of just where it had come from. Despite the food he’d eaten as Sebastian’s guest, he’d never smelled anything that even resembled marzipan or, for that matter, the Simnel cake he remembered his mother baking every year. It was coming from the door, or under it, or through some of the cracks. Miles’ stomach growled, his veins throbbed.

If he got through the door, he’d probably find something to eat. Miles stood up, wobbling like a newborn colt on unsteady legs, and made his way to the door. He growled in frustration when he saw there was no handle. He wasn’t going to be getting out of the tiny room through conventional means, then. The newly-risen vampire slammed his fist against the door in frustration, and then whined in pain as the door refused to give. His knuckles were going to bruise later, and right now, they just _hurt_. Miles stood back and glared at the door, as if that would make it open and let him out. Where was Bass? He wanted…

Unbidden, the story of what had happened to Bass when he had been brought across came to mind. Sebastian had been locked in a cellar for a year, starved until he was almost mindless, before he was let out. He’d been forced to kill his family to sate his hunger. Bass wouldn’t do that to him.

...would he?

In a panic, Miles slammed against the door, throwing his full weight into it. Bass had… No. Bass hadn’t promised to leave his family alone. He’d only let Danny go, to get what he wanted. He wouldn’t hurt his lover like he’d been hurt. He...he _wouldn’t_.

Miles prayed Bass would come to get him soon.

Hours later, it seemed, Miles had given up and was sitting on his coffin, glaring at the door. His shoulder hurt and he had a nice scrape alongside his jaw from where he had made an error in judgement about how long the room was. He’d slammed into the door with his face, which also hurt now. The attempts to get out, to save himself, had just made his hunger worse. When he saw Bass again, he was going to beat him. Hard. A lot. He was going to beat him a lot.

He was drooping with exhaustion, yawning and wanting to curl up in what was left of his coffin, when the door finally opened. The smell of marzipan and Simnel cake was back. Miles ran his tongue over his fangs, stomach growling again. Sebastian was standing in the doorway, holding a lantern. There was a distinct look of shock on his face. Miles drew his lips back from his teeth in a silent growl, fully aware that he was acting like a petulant child.

“Oh Miles...” Bass sighed, putting the lantern on the floor. “I… I didn’t know.”

Miles clung to Bass’ shoulders when the older vampire enveloped him in a bone-crushing embrace. “I didn’t know. Oh Miles, I’m so sorry.”

Relief thrummed through Miles, warring with the hunger still gnawing at him. Bass hadn’t forgotten him, hadn’t meant to lock him down here, he just hadn’t known he’d be awake and it was all a mistake and _Bass hadn’t forgotten him_. 

“Don’t like being alone down here,” Miles mumbled into Bass’ shoulder. Bass laughed softly, running his fingers through Miles’ overgrown hair. Miles hummed contentedly, nuzzling against Bass’ throat. He felt better, but…

“You need to feed,” Bass murmured. “The first hunger is always the worst.” Miles grumbled something under his breath, but followed Bass out of the small room. The sitting room they were in was automatically familiar. It was Sebastian’s sitting room, and through the other door was the bedroom they’d shared for months. So that meant… He must have destroyed Bass’ coffin. That probably wasn’t a good thing.

Jeremy was seated in a comfortable armchair, reading a book by the light of another lamp. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and Miles could smell the warm, rich scent of blood humming in the man’s veins. His fangs poked into his lower lip, reminding him that he needed to feed before he lost his mind.

Sebastian touched the side of his neck, and Miles looked back at him. The elder vampire smiled and gestured at Jeremy, obviously offering the mortal up as a meal. Miles licked his fangs again, trying to puzzle out his feelings of friendly concern for Jeremy and the hunger gnawing at him. Well, Jeremy _had_ said he let Sebastian feed from him, so it would be alright. Wouldn’t it?

“Jeremy,” Sebastian’s voice crooned from behind Miles, who shivered at the tone. “Miles is awake.” Miles watched through lidded eyes as Jeremy put a slip of paper into the book to mark his place, before closing it and putting it on the small table before he rose from his seat to approach the two vampires. His smile was generous, giving, and Miles felt suddenly very privileged for this to be his first meal.

Instinctively, Miles knew what to do. He grabbed Jeremy and pulled the man against him, one hand holding the mortal’s head to the side to give him access to his neck, and his free arm holding Jeremy close so he couldn’t wriggle away. The first bite made his fangs ache and he whined in displeasure when he realized he’d missed the vein he’d been meaning to bite into. Jeremy gave a muffled gasp of pain, which Miles ignored as he withdrew his fangs to try again.

Warm, rich, coppery blood filled his mouth. Miles almost moaned in pleasure at the taste and sucked greedily at the vein he’d plunged his fangs into. It tasted like the richest meal he’d ever had, but magnified so many times over it was almost too painful to enjoy. He felt the fluttering gasp of Jeremy’s breath against the side of his face and neck, the weakening struggles, but ignored them to continue drinking. He growled in annoyance when the blood stopped flowing and pulled his fangs out to find another vein to bite into. Blood dripped down his chin, and he licked it away as he studied the side of Jeremy’s neck to look for another vein.

“That is _enough_!”

Miles whimpered at the tone in his lover’s voice. He turned to look at Bass, using the pathetic gaze he definitely hadn’t taught his niece and nephew when they were children, trying to make him understand with just a look. He was _hungry_ , and Jeremy tasted so sweet.

“That is enough, Miles,” Bass said in a softer tone, prying Jeremy away from Miles, who whimpered needily at the loss of food. “You need to learn to pace yourself, dearest. And please do try not to kill my manservant,” he added. Miles glared petulantly back at Bass, but huffed his compliance. He supposed there were plenty other people for him to eat later, and Jeremy had always been so kind to him when he was mortal. “Come away, Miles. I still have much to show you. You may feed again later.”

\- o - o -

He was sated and warm. No, warm wouldn’t adequately describe it. He felt suffused with life force. It was as if each cell in his body was perceiving life for the first time, which, he supposed, wasn’t entirely untrue. The weight of Sebastian’s hand on his back felt both grounding and eminently exciting.

He faced Sebastian, taking in his form as if for the first time. Bass was smiling, a smile both reassuring and full of wonder. Miles could feel the other man’s gaze caressing his features. His eyes were glowing like embers which Miles wished to stoke to a yet brighter flame.

“You’re beautiful,” Miles whispered, his words coming out like a long-held sigh.

“And you’re mine,” Bass responded, softly, moving an inch closer.

“Yes. Forever.”

“Miles,” Bass drew closer still, his fingers, like fluttering moths, flying up to cup Miles’ chin, then stroking the nape of his neck. “I didn’t want to say it before, but you know, don’t you?” Miles gave him a small, quizzical smile. “I love you so much,” Bass whispered, his eyelashes also fluttering like beating butterfly wings, so close to Miles that he wanted to feel them against the skin of his lips.

Miles leaned in, only the briefest distance required to bring their lips together, and tasted Bass with all of his newborn vampire senses. He tasted like every happy moment Miles had ever lived in one all-encompassing instance. Miles gently probed Bass’ mouth with his tongue, letting it slide carefully over his lips and his teeth, circling his sharp fangs with loving attention.

“I love you too, you know.” Miles pulled back, his eyes still on the glistening softness of Sebastian’s mouth. “I wouldn’t have agreed otherwise.”

Bass’ hands drew wide circles over the expanse of Miles’ back, gripping at his broad shoulders to pull him closer, his strength no longer intimidating, but rather matched by Miles’ own newly imbued force. They kissed like dessert flowers sensing their first rain. Miles wanted to stay that way always, pressed against the waxing and waning of Bass’ lips, the magnificent currents of his body as it undulated against him.

“Let me see you,” he whispered, his fingers undoing the buttons of Sebastian’s doublet with preternatural speed. “I need to see you,” he pressed those words into the skin of his lover’s neck, to the hollow right above his lovely collarbones.

“Anything you want,” Bass sighed against him, lifting and maneuvering his limbs to gracefully allow Miles to extricate him from the confines of his clothes.

“I want…” Miles felt the imbibed blood pounding inside his body. “I want _you_.”

“You _have_ me,” Bass replied between scattered kisses along Miles’ jawline.

“All of you. All of it? Bass?” He paused, remembering all the times he’d reached for his lover before, only to have his hand brushed away. “May I?”

In lieu of a reply, what Miles got was a lapful of Bass, clawing at his clothes with a feral intensity. He felt his fangs descend, as if his already rather tumescent state wasn’t evidence enough of his arousal. He wanted to consume and to be consumed. Sebastian, now bereft of most of his clothes, writhed up against him as if he’d been thirsting for Miles’ touch for centuries. And perhaps he had.

Miles wasn’t sure what had come over him, but he had drawn Sebastian’s neck towards his mouth and sunk his teeth into the pulse point where someone else’s blood must have been flowing. Unlike with Jeremy, this time his aim had been true. Crimson colored his lips while Bass craned his neck more, head fallen back, the halo of his golden curls making him look like some kind of debauched angel.

“Need you inside me,” Bass said, his voice sounding inside Miles’ head as if he had spoken to him telepathically. Indeed, Miles realized that he couldn’t have spoken aloud - Sebastian’s mouth was busy suckling his fingers with enviable skill. He didn’t remember his fingers ever being erogenous zones before, but now he wanted to thrust them deep into the other man’s throat as if they were numerous extensions of his cock.

“Did you…” He stopped drinking his lover’s blood and came up for air. “Did I just hear you… psychically?”

“I’m your Sire, Miles. You’ll always be able to hear my thoughts from now on.”

“Oh God, Bass, that’s so… arousing!”

Miles drew the other man back into his embrace, inhaling his scent like he was all the perfumes of Arabia. His hands pulled at the remaining vestments his other still wore, dispensing of them to the floor, rejoicing in the feel of his hands on the perfect globes of Sebastian’s ass. He’d only had the pleasure of admiring it before, never to caress it like that, as if was created just for him to touch, to knead, to grasp. A million thoughts of various degrees of perversity flew through Miles’ mind, impressing even him with their newly discovered brazenness. He felt something insistently pressing up against his abdomen in a somewhat forceful way. He had not needed proof at that moment that vampires could be aroused, having been aware of his own state for a few minutes now, but it was different seeing Sebastian like that. Naked, flushed, eyes simultaneously narrowed and dilated, focused on Miles as if he was the most important thing in the world, that what they were doing was the sum of all things.

Enjoying his newly acquired vampire strength, Miles threw Sebastian down onto the bed and leapt on top of him, his lips and tongue resuming their exploration of the newly presented planes of his lover’s magnificent body, lavishing attention upon the sensitive pink buds of his nipples. He could imagine what it must have been like for the vampire who had Sired Bass - finding a magnificent specimen of humanity like that, wanting to preserve it for all eternity, to shelter it from time and wear. He only hoped that whoever had turned Bass had done it with as much love and care as he himself had been turned (his premature awakening notwithstanding). But there would be time later to discuss such things. In the meantime, his focus was elsewhere.

Even Sebastian’s cock tasted heavenly. Miles had to press the other man down into the mattress, his hands gripping the delectable bones of his hips as the other tried to buck up off the bed into the waiting heat of Miles’ mouth. Now that he had no need to breathe himself, Miles should have been less impressed with Sebastian’s prowess in this department, yet he wasn’t feeling quite as expert at this as he would have liked. What he lacked in experience, however, he had hoped to make up for in his one focused desire to please his Maker. Judging by the soft noises escaping Sebastian’s bruised lips, he wasn’t failing. Miles hummed around the shaft, feeling shivers travelling up his lover’s body. He tongued at the slit, experimentally, bringing a needy moan out of Bass.

“Enough,” Bass gasped, looking completely disheveled and debauched. “Come to me,” Miles heard the command inside his own head, as before. “Take me.”

“So pushy,” Miles grinned, allowing the velvety head of Bass’ cock to slide from his mouth.

Miles crawled over him until they were face to face again.

“Is there anything I need to… do? To prepare you?” How strange to suddenly feel so protective and tender towards someone who couldn’t die, Miles thought. 

Sebastian laughed. Miles thought he was even more gorgeous when he laughed.

“Hey,” he pouted at his lover.

“Well, darling, you will learn that if we get hurt, we heal rather quickly. But… that doesn’t mean you can no longer feel the pain.”

“So… that means?”

“Yes. Lubricant. And lots of it.”

Miles felt a sudden rise of emotion which felt like he was about to cry. “I don’t have any,” he mumbled, looking as if his entire world was crumbling around him. This heightened sensitivity to his own feelings must have been part of being a vampire as well. He would have to work on learning to harness it later. This dolorous state of affairs was apparently quite amusing to Sebastian, who let out another hearty giggle at Miles’ expense.

“Bedside cabinet. There is a jar,” Miles heard inside his own head.

“You’ve been preparing this whole time?” Miles squinted suspiciously at Bass. “I thought… You know, when we were together before, you never wanted to…”

“Shut up and fuck me, Lord Matheson.”

For someone who wasn’t even technically _moving_ his lips, Sebastian had a rather dirty mouth.

He found the jar and returned to stradling Sebastian’s lap triumphantly. The rest of it went much more smoothly, no doubt aided by the fact that Miles was able to speed his movements up sufficiently to get to what he considered “the good parts,” and to slow them down again just in time feel himself becoming sheathed in the perfect tightness of Sebastian’s eagerly waiting hole. The moan he let out at bottoming out inside his lover was nothing short of raucous. It was echoed by Sebastian’s own exclamation of desire. Even his voice sounded a thousand times more melodious to Miles now that they were so keenly tuned to each other. Bass’ thighs settled comfortably around Miles’ waist.

“Move,” Miles heard the unspoken command, and he was only too happy to oblige, drowning simultaneously in the depths of his lover’s lust-clouded eyes and in the heat of his pulsating channel. Miles obeyed and quickly lost himself to the oncoming storm of their bodies colliding after such a long wait.

At the end of the night, the bed was unable to withstand the onslaught of so much supernatural thrusting, as it sadly creaked and gave up the ghost underneath their weight, its frame crumbling all around them in ruins. It had taken hours, but the two men, or rather, the two vampires, were coiled around each other, sweat and blood intermingled in every way imaginable, limbs flung out in every direction, bodies still pressed closely together, feeling more sated than ever before. Miles still ran his fingers through Bass’ curls as if he couldn’t believe his luck of being allowed to touch him like that. Each kiss still felt like a breath of fresh air. He had hoped it would be like this always.

After all, forever was a long time, and Miles couldn’t wait to find out how he could use that to his advantage.


End file.
